Way Back

One of my all time favorite books is "Ball Four" by Jim Bouton (it was the very first "tell all" sports books and it started a trend that continues to this day, unfortunately, with the recent publication of that horse's rectum Jose Canseco's book). In it, Bouton makes the statement "baseball is an ass" referring to the people who run the game, not the game itself. So true.

I have a very clear memory of listening to the 1965 World Series on my mother's little red Sony transistor radio (which I still have to this day and listen to ball games with) when I was 6 years old. The name Sandy Koufax was magical to me. A few years later while living in England, I would play football (soccer) for hours on end but dream of playing baseball. In short, I love the game. And I would love to fucking throttle baseball commissioner Bud Selig for trying so hard to muck it up.

Since it's Monday and it's busy here at work, I don't have the time to itemize the litany of complaints I have against Selig and the other swinging dicks that run (ruin) the great game of baseball. But I will bring up one that I think is one of the most important: The All star Game and World series start too late.

For example, if I was 6 years old today, I wouldn't get a chance to see the All Star home run competition that started tonight at 8PM. Most little kids are in bed by then. Whatever you think of this contrived competition, kids love home runs and it’s a "blast" to watch. And I would not have been able to listen to Sandy Koufax pitch in the World Series if the first pitch wasn't thrown until 9PM. I would probably grow up to be into something homoerotic like American football.

I know, I know. In the scheme of things it doesn't really matter. I was even going to vent about Karl Rove in my blog tonight. But then I thought that if I ever curtailed my drunken, gallivanting ways long enough to settle down and find a nice girl willing to put up with my crap, maybe I would like to have some kids. And pass on my love for baseball. As if kids these days would ever care for such a slow, boring sport.

Don't worry folks. I will be back to my obscene, scatological ways tomorrow. And I'm working up a big one for Mr. Rove.